


Dead Man Walking

by literary_shitstorm



Category: Constantine (TV), Constantine: The Hellblazer (Comics), Hellblazer, Hellblazer & Related Fandoms, Justice League (2017), Justice League Dark (Comics)
Genre: Depression, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, John Constantine Needs A Hug, Psychosis, Suicidal Thoughts, but you can interpret it how you like, john and zatanna aren't necessarily a couple in this, psychotic depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:02:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24814270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literary_shitstorm/pseuds/literary_shitstorm
Summary: He was more than familiar with his diagnoses:chronic psychotic depression. The words held a weight on his tongue, he knew how to form the shapes of the letters and tag them onto the end of a sentence just as well as he knew his spells- he could write them on a piece of paper blindfolded.
Relationships: John Constantine & Zatanna Zatara, John Constantine/Zatanna Zatara
Comments: 5
Kudos: 56





	Dead Man Walking

**Author's Note:**

> I've always been intrigued by the references made to John's mental health and his history with hospitalization and it's something I rarely see explored- but for obvious reasons, this has trigger warnings for talks about depression, suicide, and mental health so steer clear if that's a touchy subject.

It was an odd feeling; familiar, but not one that he could say he felt particularly often these days. The crushing weight on his chest, more painful than any curse, incantation or cracked rib could ever hope to be, squashing his spine against the bug-bitten mattress that he had no idea how long he had been lying upon. It had been hours (he assumed, his timekeeping wasn’t exactly up to scratch) since he had exhausted what had been his exuberant supply of cigarettes and whiskey- _the John Constantine run out of cigarettes and whiskey?_ Most people who knew him would snort with a _yeah, when hell freezes over._

He always did have a habit of making miracles happen.

Truth was, John knew exactly what this was. This agony that turned his veins to lead and his oh-so-clever mind to nothing but a mush of unspoken words and past events, playing behind his eyelids with all the vibrancy of a tv screen. He was more than familiar with his diagnoses: _chronic psychotic depression_. The words held a weight on his tongue, he knew how to form the shapes of the letters and tag them onto the end of a sentence just as well as he knew his spells- he could write them on a piece of paper blindfolded. 

Normally, he was very good at checking himself into hospital when he could feel an episode bubbling its way to the surface, diligently showing up at the doorstep of whichever psych ward was closest with a bag full of everything he knew he’d need- years of practice, without a doubt. He’d done his share of stints, life-long illness and all that; sometimes it was months between episodes, sometimes (in this case) it was years. Most people found it surprising that the infamous Laughing Magician found it so easy to lock himself up and throw away the key for a few weeks but, in all honesty, he was glad for the break. He didn’t often have the luxury of a bed and a hot meal each night- the meds were just a bonus.

But he’d failed to get there in time. The house had collapsed before he had time to put up the scaffolding and he was left with nothing but a pile of rubble and no way to move it. There had been just one too many demons to chase and, well, by the time he’d barely made it out alive (something he’d been questioning throughout the whole endeavor- you know, just letting it be over) he hadn’t had the energy to do anything but curl up on some unlucky sod’s abandoned mattress in a derelict building and lie still and let the world overwhelm him.

The thought that people found him to be such an enigma often drew a bitter laugh from the back of his throat, surely it was plain as day that he was nothing but a front and a fraud, John Constantine was more of a ghost than any of the monsters he fought. There were people that knew it: Batman, Zatanna, Chas- maybe that was why they still had some semblance of faith in him, the corrupted belief that he wasn’t the asshole that he acted like, that he only manipulated and lied and cheated and hurt people as an act and that it was okay because _he didn’t really feel it in his heart_.

It felt wrong to wallow, in a more stable state of mind it went against everything he stood for. There was nobody else but himself responsible for the things he had done, any pain he endured or caused, any decisions he had made that led him to where he was now, it was all him- façade or not. He had no right to feel bad, to complain about his own actions, and blame it all on a twisted performance that supposedly didn’t reflect who he really was deep down. It was his own fault and 99% of the time he was more than fine with that fact; oh, he reveled in it.

It was just this pesky 1% of the time where all of a sudden being a horrible person wasn’t so fun.

The darkness was consuming, like an ever-growing force that gripped all of his body like the dirty hand of some local prostitute with a few too many years in the game, a heavy grasp that screamed of ease and numbed questioning. Even blinking felt like an insurmountable task, such a small act consumed any energy that he had, took more focus than summoning any demon. He was so close to crying; he could feel it budding in the back of his mind, the glaze of tears that would never fall because he was far too dead to let them, and dead people couldn’t cry.

To make matters worse, he could hear them. Not unordinary noises- the kicker was that they were just not real and echoing between his ears with the promise to only get louder. It had been years since he’d experienced any kind of psychosis unmedicated. The scampering of clawed feet sends a gross shiver down his spine, the heavy boom of boot-clad feet echoing on concrete that was almost always accompanied by the crack of a belt- a childhood in a nutshell. He could hear shouting in the street, shouting he knew couldn’t be real because the words were aimed at him, far away enough to sit in the fog that surrounded his brain but close enough for him to just make out the words.

“Oh, John,” The voice scared him, a feat that was usually quite rare but just pitiful given the circumstances, “Why didn’t you call?”

He didn’t have to energy to wonder how Zatanna had found him, probably through some kind of Justice League system or spell or- anything, really. It wasn’t like he’d taken any precautions to keep himself hidden as of recent, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for his enemies. He should probably be thankful that it was a friendly force that found him and not an enemy, but with the death wish swirling around his mind the concept seemed counter-intuitive.

He couldn’t see her until she crouched down to eye-level, brushing at least some of his no doubt dirty hair out of his eyes and resting a smooth palm on his forehead. Undeniably, the motion was grounding, drawing him ever so slightly to the land of the living and letting his pupils focus on the woman in front of him, offering him a smile filled with far too much raw affection to be meant for him. People shouldn’t be allowed to look at him that way.

“I think it might be time to call in a favor with the League,” She hummed, carding her fingers across his scalp, “We’re going to get you to where you need to be, John, don’t you worry.”

John found his eyes closing, his thoughts wilting with the all to known power of magic and braced himself and he drifted away into nothingness.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this on a whim in about an hour and half because I felt like I needed to get it out of my system and I know it's not that popular and probably nobody will see it but I'm glad that I did it. I love just getting fixated on things so that they're all I can think about and completely changing my interests out of nowhere- my DC (John Constantine & Jason Todd) obsession is back in the building focus (and hasn't been since I started this account), it'd be cool to know if people like stuff like this.
> 
> Real talk, as I said in at the start, I've always been intrigued by discussions of John's experiences with depression so I'm glad to finally explore that somewhat, I'd like to know what thoughts other people have on this. 
> 
> Be sure to check out my tumblr- @literary-shitstorm, I post about all sorts of shit


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